


Coming Home

by salable_mystic



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Exhaustion, Fluff, M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/salable_mystic
Summary: It's been a long day, in a long week, in a long month. Viggo is coming home.
Relationships: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: 2020 Viggorli Secret Santa





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JamieVamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieVamp/gifts).



It was going on midnight, when Orlando heard the front door open. He’d been lounging on the couch, half-heartedly watching some talk show on TV, its volume set low, half-heartedly scrolling through his phone, dressed down in comfy sweatpants and a sweatshirt he had stolen from Viggo, fighting sleep because he’d wanted to stay up to welcome Viggo home.

The other man had been very busy lately, a combination of his latest film project running overtime and a couple of issues at Perceval Press needing to be resolved and requiring his attention, so they hadn’t seen much of each other. And, well, when they had seen each other, Viggo had been in pretty low spirits. Tired, run-down, feeling both his age and over-extended, and generally just plain annoyed with all the administrative issues he had had to deal with, the fires he had had to put out – when he was asked to be creative at the same time. Never a good combination, for someone who invested so much time and method acting into a character, who wanted to inhabit that person so thoroughly - the administrative mundania of running a company always came as especially unwelcome distractions during those times.

Usually the timing worked out better – Viggo was either filming or Perceval was busy, but sometimes things got snarled up one place or the other … and well, issues developing and consuming extra time in both places at once … that was just plain unfortunate.

It had meant a grouchy Viggo who was unhappy and angry - mostly with and at himself.

At least the holiday break was coming up now, plus, according to the old-fashioned schedule that was tagged to their refrigerator, the film crew should be done with Viggo’s shots (at least, if the third revision of the schedule, done in bold red ink, held true).

Where Perceval stood Orlando had no idea. Oh, he’d kept asking the older man, during a rushed shower they’d taken together on a recent morning, or over an equally rushed breakfast on a different day, but the answers had ranged from “one step away from being burned down with a blow-torch by its owner!” to “might as well be put on a boat and thrown into the Mariana trench!” to “better hide the dynamite, honey, damn it!” … from which he had gathered … that there were still some issues that needed to be resolved/might be ongoing over the break.

But, well, one out of two only, that wouldn’t be so bad.

With the time and mental energy that filming took out of Viggo no longer needing to be invested into that project, hopefully the situation and Perceval could eveb be improved to the issue maybe only needing time and energy – rather than dynamite or a blow-torch. And they could take some time over the holidays to get it done. Business at the press inevitably slowed down over the holiday season – at least the conceptual and strategic aspects of it – shipping fulfilled orders right up until the holidays, as customers sent in last minute requests. But fulfilling those, at least, was not something Viggo usually had to deal with – and from what Orlando had heard, the staff was handling that aspect of the business okay. Not that he would mind helping out with the stuffing of envelopes and packing of parcels, even if it wasn’t his idea of a fun way to spend the holiday season … if it helped Viggo, he’d of course do it. But, no, from what he had gathered beneath all the burn-it-all-to-the-ground frustration, the problems seemed to lie in the larger structure of the company.

Keys were being dropped with a clatter in their porcelain key holder, and next came a sigh and the thump-thump of shoes being taken off and hitting the floor. Usually, Orlando would get up and head down the hallway to greet their owner, but he stayed still on the couch and only lowered the volume of the TV even further, so that he might be able to glean something about the mood of the man that had just returned home, before said man noticed that he was being stealthily assessed. For, when said man was already in a belligerent mood, he sometimes did not (at least, initially) appreciate other people wanting to take care of/be gentle with and around him.

(“I’m not made of glass, Orli! I’m not going to break just because you didn’t like the fish I made for dinner! Not that there’s anything wrong with it! Well, not much! It’s only a bit overcooked! Just say it! Hrmph!” … the fish had, in fact, been fine. Its cook had not been, and had apologized later).

Orlando didn’t mind grouchy Viggo – he always reminded him of a pouty bear, in fact – but Viggo always minded turning into grouchy Viggo, and so became even grouchier and spiraled into a mire of self-recriminations and his own unhappiness. So, more for Viggo’s sanity than his own, Orlando tried to be careful without Viggo noticing that he was, in fact, being careful, whenever he noticed Viggo becoming overworked and unhappy. Hence the stealth, and trying to observe clues going by Viggo’s behavior. His instincts were to go out and hug the man – he himself always preferred offensive hugging when he was in a grouchy frame of mind, and Viggo always provided those hugs perfectly … but he had learned, over the years, that with Viggo, one had to wait until the other man was ready to be soothed and hugged, to let the other man come to him. Even if sitting still and waiting was hard, with Viggo it was the better choice. Viggo always came, when he was ready. (Orlando didn’t, he would hide away, and needed the pro-active hugging … Viggo needed space, and to get to decide when he wanted to be hugged. It hadn’t been easy, but they had learned. And so, Orlando stayed on the couch, and pretended not to be paying attention to the hallway, or the man in it.)

What must be Viggo’s satchel/man-bag hit the floor with a thump – but only the thump of it being set down, no extra force behind it, which was a good sign – and the rustling that followed indicated that a jacket was being taken off by its owner and hung up on one of the empty coat-hooks in the hallway. All good enough signs, but all inconclusive so far … no, best to keep waiting, and let Viggo decide where he was going, and to go from there. To the kitchen, if he still needed space or was still in a work-work-work headspace … or to the living-room where Orlando was … .

Orlando got his answer a minute later, when the couch beside him dipped under the weight of another person, and the warmth of a lean body settling in close to his own warmed his right side. He glanced over out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be engrossed in the … oh, commercial … that was now playing on the TV, though he couldn’t quite stop his lips from twitching into a warm smile. A head hit his shoulder, its owner snuggling in close, and Orlando quickly moved his right arm, so that he could draw the other man in closer still, settling his arm around the older man’s shoulders. He turned his head and dropped a light kiss into the other man’s hair, which got him a fond grumble in return. Yes, it was definitely grouchy, overworked and unhappy, but-willing-to-be-soothed, Viggo time.

Affection and fondness carefully hidden behind a calm voice, he softly asked, “Bad day at the office, dear?”

“The worst. It took nineteen takes for that damn shower scene to finally be in the can, and the warm water ran out after, oh, I don’t know, I think it was take five? So I’ve taken the equivalent of fourteen cold showers today, and in between I was, hair dripping wet, clothes wet, shivering, everything wet and sticky and … bah … on the phone with Lisa from accounting who was trying to sort out why we have $2’000 more in the bank than there should be, which is apparently a catastrophe waiting to happen, according to her, and the tax report is due, and then one of the cameras wouldn’t switch on and so we stood around like morons and one of the gaffers kept trying to chat to me about I have no idea what and … yes, thank you, it was the worst.”

All of this was grouched into Orlando’s direction, while the other man slowly leaned more and more weight onto Orlando’s side. Somewhere in the middle of the report of what turned out to truly have been a pretty bad day, Orlando had reached down with his left arm, to draw the other man sideways, turn him on the couch, make him shift and draw his legs up, so that his legs were now lying, bent, across Orlando’s own legs, and Orlando could embrace the other man properly. Viggo had let himself be manhandled willingly and easily, never stopping in his complaint.

“And I‘m just … I’m not an accountant? I don’t know what Lisa wanted me to do? And it’s not like I had access to any of the books or records or anything that might have helped – I was on set! In wet clothes! Shivering! And my bum knee really didn’t like all that coldness and water and having to act out slipping and falling in the shower 19 times either! And yet she kept calling me!”

“Hmm. That does sound like a truly bad day.” Orlando hummed softly, and kissed his way along the side of Viggo’s face – what he could reach, given their position, and the hair hanging into the older man’s face, at any rate. “But the scene got wrapped, yeah? You got it done? Project’s wrapped?”

“Hmmm. Yeah, yeah, scene is done, project wrapped. The scene even turned out okay, I think. Alfonso was pleased, at any rate.”

“That’s good, then. And did Lisa manage to sort the accounting issue out, or do you have to go in tomorrow, for that?”

A yawn was pressed against Orlando’s shoulder. “That one is tricky. Hmm. I don’t know. The last time I spoke to her she sounded like she might know what the problem is, but by then it was going on 6pm and so I told her to call it a day and go home.”

“That was nice of you.”

A shrug.

“Hmmph. Maybe. I mean, sure – but also I really just didn’t want to be dealing with it anymore. I wanted her to Stop Calling Me, because I was cold and wet and we were on take thirteen by then and things kept going wrong and I just really wanted to go home and be done with it. If I never have to take another cold shower for a film ever again, that’ll be just fine by me.”

Orlando hummed softly in agreement, waiting to see if the older man had more to say about the – admittedly, many – misfortunes of the day. It sounded like both issues were resolved or on their way to being resolved, though, and like he had an over-tired Viggo who was finally able to relax on his hands.

An over-tired Viggo who was able to finally relax, however, Orlando had learned, if not stopped in his tracks, quickly became a self-recriminatory Viggo, who, unable to relax now that he supposedly could do so, quickly tried to find other things to worry about, and turned all that restless, overstretched energy towards self-recrimination.

“And now, ha, look at me! Here I am complaining about everything to you, instead of asking you how your day went … hell, I didn’t even say ‘Hello, it’s so good to see you, honey’, or ask you if you wanted company, or … anything! …. and I know I’ve been a horrible partner recently and I’m never home and I’ve been always busy over the last weeks, and I don’t know how you even …”

“Shh, hey, hey, no” – and, yep, here they were, the post-frantic-busy-spell self-recriminations setting in. “It’s okay. We knew you would be really busy finishing the film – we talked about it beforehand, remember? And of course something can come up at Perceval unexpectedly. I understand that.”

“But still, I should have …”

Orlando pushed Viggo away from his side – gently, and only a little, only so that he could try to catch the other man’s gaze and meet his eyes. He reached up, and tenderly tucked some loose strands of hair behind the older man’s ear, his thumb caressing over a cheek rough with beard stubble.

“Look at me, yeah?”

The older man, who was staring unfocusedly towards the TV, blinked and met his gaze. “Ok, I’m looking…?”

“Now, look at us … look at where we are,” Orlando tilted his head towards the side to indicate their position on the couch, the way they were snuggled into each other. “Do I look like I mind?”

He reached out with the hand that was still across Viggo’s shoulders, to draw the blanket that usually rested on the back of the couch around the older man. Viggo hesitated a little, but then reached up to help complete the gesture, the blanket soon tucked safely around the two of them.

“Well …” he hesitated, slumped a little, and sighed. “… no.”

He sighed again, and further pent-up energy seemed to drain out of him, his features slowly relaxing, tense frown between his brows becoming lighter. “I still hate it that I get so wrapped up in my own head sometimes though, and so tugged in different directions, that I, you know …” he shrugged.

“… come home, tired, keyed up, and exhausted, and immediately feel the need to snuggle into your long-term boyfriend’s side? How terrible of you.”

Viggo snorted. “I would not have described it like that.”

Orlando shrugged. “I know you wouldn’t have.” He kept up the soft stroking with his thumb across the older man’s cheek. “But that’s what you did.”

Another sigh from the older man. “Should have asked you though.”

“How my day was? Or if you could snuggle me?” Orlando shrugged, “My day was fine and fairly uneventful … and as to the latter, we’ve been living together for, what, three years now? I think snuggling precedents have well and truly established. You know I like snuggling.”

Viggo chuffed a soft laugh, and a smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I know. And I’m very grateful for it.”

“See? It all works out. I like being snuggled, you wanted to snuggle me … nice.”

Orlando drew the older man back in, and they sat on the couch in silence for a while, the soft noises from the TV providing the only sound in the room, and the changing lights from the television drawing colorful shapes and shadows across the furniture.

After a while, Orlando felt his eyelids growing heavy, and the way the other man was stifling yet another yawn told Orlando that the man would probably be able to actually sleep if they went to bed now – when Viggo was too keyed up, sleep was often elusive, but the signs, right now, seemed promising.

He leaned down, and nosed softly at the other man’s cheek, to catch his attention.

“You know what I also really like?”

“Hmm?” the older man turned his head and their gazes met again, this time filled with soft fondness and the beginnings of easy relaxation. “Oh. Chocolate chip ice-cream?”

Orlando laughed, startled. “Yes, that too! But I was actually thinking … snuggling. In bed.”

“Ooooh.” Another yawn, and the slow blink of tired eyes. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good. I can get behind that.” Viggo stretched, reluctantly untangled himself from the blanket, and got up.

“Come on then,” he reached out his hand, and helped the younger man off of the couch. An unnecessary gesture, but one that was appreciated anyway. Their fingers tangled together, and stayed clasped, as Orlando reached for the remote to turn off the TV, and they headed towards the hallway.

In the doorframe, the older man stopped, and turned, until he was facing Orlando. With his free hand, Viggo reached up and cupped the younger man’s cheek. “And Orlando?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” He leaned in, and their lips met in a soft, tired, gentle, affectionate kiss.

“Hmmm.” 

Another kiss, then they broke apart slowly, the tiredness that comes at the end of a long and grueling month overriding, for now, their ardor. Time, there would be time, tomorrow.

“Come on old man, let’s go to bed.”


End file.
